


The Trouble With Expectations

by SpicyChestnut



Series: Silent Princess Blooming [5]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Acting Out, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Curious but Sexually Inexperienced Zelda, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Humor, Insecurity, Light Dom/sub, Miscommunication, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Secret Affair, Sexually Experienced Link, Smut, Teenage Rebellion, Vaginal Sex, zelink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23341876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyChestnut/pseuds/SpicyChestnut
Summary: Zelda has settled comfortably into the clandestine routine of her affair with Link. It's been a stressful week since last they were together and the pressures of her father and the court haven't helped with her mood; but Link is more than happy to be the outlet for her frustrations. / BoTW ZeLink AU. #3 of "Silent Princess Blooming".
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Series: Silent Princess Blooming [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1000050
Comments: 126
Kudos: 332





	1. Keeping Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this stay-at-home CoronaVirus business has been excellent for one thing: getting me to finish some WIPs! This story has been half-written for a good half year, and I was really, really stuck on the thematic elements of chapter 4, and tying them back in to the overarching theme of the series. Having nothing but time and my computer in front of me the past 2 weeks has done wonders for helping me work through the block, and so here we are--the next installment of the Anger Management extended universe!
> 
> Publication will be twice weekly (thanks everyone who participated in the poll!), on Tuesday and Friday!

Zelda lifted the small vial of red liquid to her lips, withholding a gag as the acrid odor wafted into her nose. Pointedly plugging both nostrils between forefinger and thumb she tilted her head back, downing the elixir as quickly as possible. She tossed the vial hastily aside before reaching for the glass of wildberry juice atop her desk, chasing the elixir’s bitter aftertaste with the tart but flavorful beverage.

Though the contraceptive elixir proved more… unpleasant to consume than anticipated, she nonetheless felt eased as it settled in her stomach. This was her second dose—the dose which would allow her to freely engage in sexual activity without fear of pregnancy. It was more of a relief to be rid of that lingering concern than she’d anticipated; she suspected she hadn’t even realized just how it was weighing on her until it was relieved. Though, she felt her face warm at the thought of what it meant for her and Link’s rendezvous that evening. What would it be like to remain joined, she wondered, as he…

She blushed, setting the glass down more heavily upon the surface of her desk than she’d intended.

Turning, she shook herself from such scandalous thoughts, forcing her attention to the more pressing matter of hiding the haphazard pile of illicit ingredients. She’d taken advantage of her father’s preoccupation that morning—an involved meeting with his advisers to discuss budgetary matter, to complete the lengthy process of brewing several weeks worth of contraceptive elixir; but time was getting on, and he would soon be done if he were not already. And once he was, he would begin to wonder where she was and whether she was praying at the castle shrine as she ought; which currently she was not.

Crossing to the far side of the room she opened a low cabinet, pulling out the books, journals and other odds and ends which currently occupied the space until the back of the cabinet was exposed. Then she reached in, pressing her fingertips hard against the left side. The sound of scraping wood echoed dully within the cabinet until the rear of the panel angled and popped open—revealing a false back, and hidden chamber behind.

She had discovered it by accident while playing as a child, and in her youth it had served to hide her diaries and the little research knick-knacks her father disapproved of. She had only ever told one person of the hidden compartment’s existence—her mother. “It’ll be our little secret, my love,” her mother had said with a wink when a young Zelda showed her. On occasion she would open it to stash newfound treasures and find little caramels or other treats her mother had stashed away as a surprise. Aside from that endearment, it remained Zelda’s own.

But then her mother passed and her father grew distant. It became one of the few remaining connections she had to her mother and she kept it as a deeply personal secret. As the years passed it grew to hold all the most intimate treasures she dared not share, and those things she was forbidden to possess. It had kept the research notes her father scorned, the strange and fascinating book about sexual intimacy she had found hidden in the library in her early teen years, and the diaries in which she wrote her most personal and pained thoughts.

And now, years later, it would hold her contraceptive elixirs as well.

Hurriedly, she tucked the ingredients and the vials into the hollow space, taking great pains to neatly replace the panel. Leaning back on her heels, she let out a breath and smiled.

Now she needed to hurry to the castle shrine to fulfill her daily devotions as her Father expected her to. Maintaining a flawless facade of obedience was of the utmost importance; having been barred from her research, her affair with Link was the only outlet she had left—her secret rebellion against the utter unfairness of her plight: sole keeper of the Goddess’ powers, unable to wield it—trapped in an endless cycle of prostration and recrimination. She would not see this small freedom so quickly stolen from her because she failed to exercise enough caution.

She bit her lip as she stared at the empty cabinet, giving the false back a final furrowed stare. It was strange, though. Despite her determination to carry on and the care she had taken pains to exercise, she couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about it all. She had never before engaged in such a serious and long-running act of defiance. Though both she and Link had been extraordinarily careful and none seemed any the wiser, she couldn’t help but fear the possibility of discovery.

But when her mind inevitably drifted to their time at the Fang and Bone—dancing together that first night, his touch electrifying her very soul… her heart shirked from its fear and felt, instead, utterly thrilled by her rebellion. For the first time in recent memory she was doing something for herself—and _only_ for herself. With Link, she shed her mantle of responsibility, her burdens and fears, and let herself simply be—let herself simply _want_. It was her own happy secret that did not require the approval or consent of anyone else—something she could keep close to her heart, quiet and free.

It was this feeling she held close when the nervousness niggled at her—and it was this feeling which always served to banish it.

As she was replacing her books before the false back of the cabinet, a small smile gracing her lips, a knock came suddenly at the door. Startled, her knuckles knocked painfully against the side of the cabinet and she bit back a curse. Attempting to ignore the way her heart had risen to a nervous, stuttering tempo, she tossed the rest of the objects inside haphazardly before quietly shutting the cabinet door. Straightening, she anxiously smoothed out her royal gown before striding to the door, pausing to take one, two, three calming breaths. Once she felt her composure settle into place, she opened the door to find a maid standing before her, bowing as she came into view.

“Your Highness. I am sorry to interrupt, but the King has requested you in his study.”

Zelda felt her hand twitch, but otherwise kept her face neutral. It surely wasn’t related to any of this… No, she had been careful. He must have finished his meeting early; or perhaps he wished to see her about other matters altogether?

At least, she desperately hoped so.

Forcing a smile and a steady heart, Zelda stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight. “Thank you. I will go to see him immediately.”

The maid curtsied. “Of course, your Highness.”

Closing the door of her study behind her, she turned and followed the maid as she retreated towards her bedroom, taking small, quiet breaths to quell her rising anxiety.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Zelda raised her fist to knock sharply on the large double doors of her father’s study, a slight tremble in her hand as her nervousness bled through her tenuous hold on it. She could only guess at what he wished to see her about, and that unsurety served to make her stomach knot more tightly. At no point in her life had any conversation where she had been summoned unexpectedly by her father been about something good. She felt particularly glad for Link’s day off—she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep her face neutral knowing he stood just beyond in the hall.

Her father’s booming voice sounded through the thick, carved wood, beckoning her to enter. The guards on either side of the doors pushed them inward, and she crossed the threshold with her head held high though she felt far from confident.

Her father’s study was large and cavernous; tall stone walls were draped in ornate tapestries, and cold stone floors lay covered in rich burgundy rugs. A group of four armchairs encircled a low table near the door, where she knew her father to meet with his closest advisers and ministers. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall, behind where her father’s imposing figure was seated at a richly carved mahogany desk in the center of the room. He leaned back in his worn velvet chair, holding aloft a scroll which he reviewed absently as she approached, her footsteps muffled by the thick rug. She stopped short several feet in front of the imposing piece of furniture, taking a silent, steadying breath.

“You wished to see me, Father?”

With a last glance he eyed the scroll before rolling it back up and setting it lightly atop the desk. Then, he turned to her, eyes calm but unnervingly analytical.

“Yes. I just finished meeting with my advisers, and our topic of discussion—at least in part—is of concern to you. As you know, under normal circumstances we would be preparing to celebrate the Summertide in a few weeks, but in light of the recent monster attacks I had it called off some months ago.”

Zelda nodded, feeling the tension bleed out of her and suppressing the urge to exhale a sigh of relief. This wasn’t about her recent…escapades.

“My advisers feel that continuing with the Summertide Ball would perhaps be a better course of action—that keeping morale in the kingdom high is of priority right now, as the signs of Ganon’s return increase—and carrying on with this tradition would be a good way to do that. In giving it some thought, I find I agree. I have therefore ordered the castle staff to begin preparations, and the ball will take place as it usually would on the first night of Summer. That being said, I will need you to put together a short speech to open the ball, as is your duty as Princess and keeper of the Goddess’ power.”

“I—yes, Father.”

She was surprised by the news, especially given that the first day of summer was little more than two weeks away. It would be quite a task to put together in that time what traditionally was planned over months; but it was certainly doable if he put enough of the castle’s resources to the task.

“If that is all you wished to see me about Father, I will take my leave to begin—”

“No, Zelda, that is not all.”

The brief sense of calm she felt thinking her secret remained safe quickly dissipated. She knew that tone of voice…

“As you well know, these types of events are rife opportunities for gossip.”

He paused, the silence in the room pregnant with disapproval and unspoken words. Leaning forward on his desk, he eyed her sharply. “It has come to my attention that you were not in the shrine this morning performing your prayers.”

Zelda felt her mouth go dry. “I… no, I—”

“I told you in no uncertain terms that you need to be dedicating every moment you have to your _training_.” His voice no longer held the clipped, business-like tone he’d used only moments ago; instead, it was now low and angry. “This morning was an opportunity to do so, and you did not. You are eighteen—an actionable and capable adult! But if you cannot conduct yourself with the seriousness required of this task, I will have no choice but to appoint one my advisers to watch over you and ensure your training is carried out as it ought. If you behave like a child, I will be forced to treat you like one.”

Zelda felt her anger rising in addition to the hurt and fear that his coldness usually stoked when the subject of her training was discussed. As usual, ten long years of tireless dedication went unnoticed in his eyes simply because she had not yet been successful.

“I am doing _all_ that I can… I have spent my entire life in prayer and it has not yielded results. I’m _trying_ to find—”

“Enough!” his booming voice echoed loudly in the cavernous room as he rose from his chair, eyes narrowed in anger. Zelda felt herself recoil.

“Consider this your final warning,” he said lowly, settling himself back in his seat. “The sacred texts say that prayer will unlock the Goddess’ power, and so prayer is what you shall do. In the weeks leading up to the Summertide Ball, I expect you to maintain a rigorous routine of morning devotionals, afternoon prayer, and evening contemplation in full accordance with our traditions and customs. I will not give the gossip-mongers anything more to whisper about. Have I made myself clear?”

Zelda could feel her shoulders shaking from a combination of anger and fear; though she wasn’t quite sure which she felt more of. She yearned to rise up against him—to shout and scream how unfair it all was, just as she wished to run away; but nothing would be accomplished by either. There was only one way she could respond—the way she was always forced to respond: submission.

“Yes, Father,” she answered quietly, lowering her head to face the burgundy rug, cheeks burning.

Several beats of oppressive silence passed. Then:

“You are dismissed.”

Without looking at him she turned, heading straight for the doors. She opened them listlessly, striding with as much put-on calm as she could dredge up through the hallway and back to her chamber. Before she had been summoned to her Father’s office, she had decided her next best course of action would be to depart for prayer at the shrine. It seemed now that her own judgment and agency were no longer factors in that decision. Bitterness rose up within her like bile, but she made little effort to swallow it back.

Clenching her hands at her sides, she glared angrily at the carpet along which she tread. She would pray—just as she always prayed. And just as she always did, the Goddess would turn a deaf ear to her devotion. This was the vicious cycle she had been locked in since childhood—the cycle she was certain she would never escape. Between the callousness of her Father, her personal obligation to the kingdom, and the Goddess’ stinging rejection to her desperate pleas, she felt as though she were drowning in failure and unmeetable obligation, with no way in which to act out against this karmic cruelty; no manner in which to assert herself.

 _Well_ … A wicked grin curled slowly at the edges of her down-turned lips as she took a left for the hallway leading to her bedroom. Perhaps there was one way.


	2. Suspect Smile

Brigo entered the guard’s chambers through the large double doors shortly before lunch. The room was dim, as it often was; warm and a bit stuffy, filled with chatter and the clang and clatter of swords down in the practice arena. He’d hoped to get some practice in himself before heading up to the dining hall for lunch. With the quiet footfalls he’d become well known for amongst the other recruits he made his way to the far wall, weaving between worn wooden tables and chairs scattered about the upper recreation floor until he reached the weapon rack. His hand immediately grasped for a short sword. He didn’t bother with a shield; he was still too green to feel confident sparring with one of the soldiers, and so the practice dummies which lined the edge of the arena, and which offered no threat that would require the defensive device, would suffice.

Murmured gossip and boisterous chatter echoed within the large, cavernous chamber as Brigo tested the sword’s balance, resting its ricasso upon his fingers. The blade tilted downward; this one wouldn’t do. He set it back on the rack, critically eying the other practice swords neatly arrayed as a barking laugh echoed over the thrum of chatter. Aside from training, the guards chambers were a popular place for the soldiers to share the latest castle news and rumors: who was seeing which maid or, on rare occasion, courtier. But Brigo, unlike many, was uninterested in such gossip. He wanted solely to train and to learn—to one day be as good as his idol, despite being several years his senior.

Link, the chosen of the Master Sword and the most talented swordsman in all of Hyrule—a right _prodigy_ —embodied everything Brigo yearned to be. He had only met Link once, and seen him from a distance a mere handful of times. As the Princess’ appointed knight he was usually in her company, and the Princess was often either traveling and away from the castle, or locked away in the castle shrine. The few times he had caught a glimpse, he was always so serious, so silent… so focused and committed to duty! He was the very reason Brigo had joined the guard, and was everything he was working so hard to one day become.

When planning his training regiment, Brigo modeled himself after the Hero as closely as he could in hopes that it might inspire within himself the same skill and dedication. Though he knew he still had a long way to go, his commanding officer had recently noted his improved skill with a shortsword—the weapon of choice for the Hero of Hyrule; and though he couldn’t say if that was a result of his mimicry or his many hours down in the arena, he was thrilled to be improving, and moving closer to his goal of becoming a hero in his own right.

With careful consideration Brigo eyed the next sword balancing precariously upon his hand; no, too weighty at the handle. As he exchanged it for another, his pointed ears perked as the very subject of his musings was murmured about only a few feet away, at the table directly behind him.

“I saw ‘im the other day smilin’—grin across ‘is face! I ain’t never seen Link smilin’!”

“Funny you should say—I did too. I thought maybe I’d just caught him at the right time, but… I thought it was strange.”

“Same here! That boy is so serious all the time, It was almost eerie _…_ ”

“Why the sudden change, d’you think? What’s got him so cheerful? Maybe some new secret to defeating the Calamity?”

One of the men snickered. “I know what would make _me_ that cheerful…”

“Yeah, well… that would make _anyone_ cheerful.”

The table was silent for several moments, and Brigo tilted his head to hear a bit better. What were they talking about? What would make anyone that cheerful? Had he perhaps had recent success with a new training method? Was the Princess showing signs of unlocking her ancient sealing magic? Suddenly, one of the men spoke, his tone low and disbelieving.

“Wait—no, you don’t think…?”

“Aw, shit, that’s gotta be it!”

“He kept coming down here for a while, beatin’ the shit out of those training dummies, and we were all makin’ jokes. But I’d bet my left foot he’s got himself a girl.”

“Who d’you think he’s seein’? One of the Princess’ handmaids maybe?”

“Dunno, but whoever it is, she’s doin’ a good job of keepin’ his master sword busy.”

The table broke out into snickers, and Brigo dropped his short sword in shock as the meaning of their words sunk in. Suddenly the voices at the table stopped, and he heard the gruffest one turn to speak in his direction.

“Hey, newbie, you listening to our conversation?”

Slowly Brigo turned, cheeks flaming, finding a startlingly well-built but graying, bearded man watching him with narrowed eyes.

“Y-yes, sir, I overheard. I apologize, I—I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

The gruff man’s stern expression slowly morphed into an amused smile, and after a moment he waved him over. “Ah, didn’t mean to scare ya, kid. Come on over, sit down. Maybe you can solve the mystery ‘ere.”

Not wishing to offend the clearly more senior soldiers, Brigo picked up the sword and placed it warily back on the rack before awkwardly taking a seat at the table. The gruff man turned to him, extending a hand.

“I’m Sayk. This here is Carl,” he said, pointing a thumb at a barrel chested man with fiery red hair leaning his elbows on the table. “And this is Benro.” He pointed to a lithe, dark haired man sporting a ponytail sitting next to him. Brigo offered a small wave to both men.

“N-nice to meet you. I’m Brigo.”

The dark haired man, Benro, leaned thoughtfully forward on one elbow, speaking lowly in his direction.

“So, Brigo, you got any idea what’s goin’ on with the lad? You seen ‘im with any ladies lately?”

Brigo shook his head. “I—no, I’ve only ever seen him in the company of the Princess.”

Carl crossed his arms over his chest, eying him thoughtfully as he rubbed his chin. “But you’ve seen him actin’ all… happy, ain’t ye? I mean, it ain’t exactly his usual way…”

Brigo nodded. “I’ve only seen him once recently—from a distance; but… I suppose he did look very cheerful.”

As the gruff man opened his mouth to speak, the groan of the double doors loudly announced a newcomer to the room; and as Brigo looked up to see who had entered, his mouth fell open in shock. The very subject of their conversation walked casually down the ramp and into the guards chamber; and, just as the men had described, he wore an infectious smile. Small though it was, the obvious happiness reached his eyes in a way Brigo had never seen before. He and the other men watched closely in rapt silence as the Hero walked across the room, towards a weapon rack which he began to thoughtfully peruse. Though most in the room took no notice of him, the other occupants at the table leaned forward eagerly, whispering excitedly to one another.

“Look, just like I said—smilin’ like a fool!”

“Don’t got doubts now!”

Slowly, Sayk leaned back, eying Link thoughtfully as Carl and Benro continued to speculate between one another. Brigo eyed the older man sidelong with curiosity, his own mind beginning to wonder at the Hero’s strange behavior. After several moments of silent staring, without a word to any of the table’s occupants Sayk swung his legs over the bench, standing to his full towering height. Carl and Benro immediately fell to silence, looking up at him curiously—but Sayk offered no explanation, merely turned and walked casually over to where Link was perusing the weapon rack.

Benro snickered. “Oh, I can’t wait to see how this goes down.”

With avid interest Brigo observed as Sayk leaned casually against the wall beside the Hero, attracting the young man’s attention. Though they stood a good thirty feet away, Sayk’s teasing tone carried easily over the distance.

“I only know one thing makes a man look like that. Who’s the girl?”

Link turned, his smile fading as he eyed the man.

“I’m… sorry?”

“You know, the girl who’s had you grinning from ear to ear all week?”

Link eyed Sayk impassively for several moments before returning his gaze to the weapon rack, hand once more dancing from halberd to broadsword to dagger and back. “I think you’re mistaken.”

“Aw, c’mon… The Princess is lovely and all, but do you really expect me to believe that spending all day in her company is that… ahem, _fulfilling_?” He let out a light chuckle, and with a gentle nudge to Link’s shoulder, reiterated, “It’s just us guys, here, and we’re all curious—who’s the girl lucky enough to hold the great Hero’s attention?”

Link turned and observed the man, and though it could have been his imagination Brigo thought he saw the barest hint of amusement dancing in the boy's eyes as he answered calmly, “I’m sorry if it’s not the answer you’re looking for, but I assure you I am entirely focused on the needs of the Princess.”

Sayk let out an exasperated breath before turning to the weapon rack himself. “Alright, I’ll make you a deal. You’ve been comin’ down here to train a lot lately—how about a little sparring? But with a catch—I win, you spill the beans. You win, I won’t ask again. Deal?”

Link eyed the man thoughtfully a moment before returning his gaze to the weapon he had selected from the rack as he turned for the arena. “I think I’ll stick with a training dummy today.”

Sayk let out a hearty guffaw, calling after him: “Oh, don’t tell me the chosen Hero is afraid of sparring with the famed ‘Serpent of the Citadel’?!”

Sayk’s echoing voice turned the heads of several nearby soldiers—likely by intention, stopping Link mid-step. Turning, he eying the man up and down a moment. Then, he shrugged, pausing to grab a shield from a nearby rack. “Alright.”

Without another word Link headed down into the arena and Sayk grinned, stopping to grab two long daggers from a weapon rack nearby. With a quick glance to the table, he jerked his head towards the arena in gesture, then turned and followed after Link.

Beside him, Benro began shaking his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. “The damned fool is going to get his ass handed to him.”

Carl cocked his head, standing from his chair. “I dunno, Ben, Sayk’s pretty good. He ain’t called the Serpent of the Citadel for nothin’.”

Brigo rose from the table as well, eying the exchange between the two men with excited interest. He’d heard tales of the Serpent of the Citadel in training—how he’d fought off twenty Lizalfos with nothing more than two steak knives during a surprise attack on the Citadel in Akkala almost a decade ago. Then again, he’d also heard similar stories extolling extraordinary feats about Link. Having seen neither man fight in person, he couldn’t begin to speculate on who would be the victor.

Benro chuckled. “Clearly you haven’t seen the lad fight. When they say he was chosen by the Goddess—well, there’s a reason.”

The two men departed the table for the second floor railing—a good vantage from which to (safely) observe the fight in the arena below. Brigo followed quietly after, feeling excitement bubble up within him. This was an incredible opportunity to not only study the hero’s fighting form, but another accomplished soldier’s as well! It was likely to be an incredible spectacle, and one from which there was plenty to learn.

As the three men reached the banister they leaned over it eagerly. Link and Sayk were beginning to take up position opposite each other in the arena below. The other combatants had cleared out, and a collection of curious onlookers were gathering along the edges of the ring, murmuring excitedly amongst themselves. Someone had already selected a referee; an older man, wiry and clad in armor, walked into the center of the arena, eying the two men sternly as he spoke loudly to the room at large.

“First to achieve what would be a disabling blow is the victor. Standard arena rules apply. On my mark, gentleman… three, two, one… fight!”

The referee hurriedly backed out of the ring, and once the space was clear, Link and Sayk began to circle each other. After several tense moments, Sayk’s grip tightened on his twin daggers, eyes narrowed and sharp—and in a flash he lunged at Link, faster than Brigo had seen any man move; however Link was faster, leaping up as Sayk barreled forward, vaulting right over the top of him and landing neatly on his feet behind him. Sayk skidded to a halt, whirling around and assuming a defensive position as once more the two men faced off, each eying the other for an opening.

Brigo held his breath. It had all happened so fast… both men were unbelievably quick on their feet! How could either possibly get the upper hand?

Once more they circled each other, their breathing and the excited murmurs of onlookers the only sounds in the room. After what seemed a tense eternity, Sayk began to slowly approach, one small step at a time, nearing his target. Much to Brigo’s surprise Link did not retreat, merely eyed the man carefully as he closed in. Then, with a sudden whirl, Sayk struck with both daggers, spinning like a deadly top—a flurry of blows Link blocked with his shield. Taking advantage of Sayk’s momentary distraction, he lunged with his shortsword; but Sayk managed to dodge the attack, spinning around again to Link’s side and kicking the shield from his hand with a grunt.

The shield went flying across the arena, landing with a thump on the ground some twenty feet away, rocking slowly on its arch. Then, before Brigo could properly process what had just happened, the two men became a blur. Sayk lunged, Link parried, Sayk struck, Link countered, Link lunged, Sayk dodged… It went on like that in a flurry of blows for several minutes, the sound of metal striking metal ringing loudly throughout the arena, interspersed only with the grunts and shouts and heavy breathing of the two mens’ exertion. Each possessed incredible precision and agility, nimbly dodging the other’s attacks as they slowly pushed one another about the ring.

Whether through intentioned effort or chance, an opening appeared—and with a shout Sayk sent Link’s shortsword flying across the room. A gasp erupted from the gathered spectators, and despite himself Brigo felt his heart fall. Was this it—had Link, the great hero chosen by the Goddess been so easily beaten by an ordinary soldier?

With inhuman speed, Link reacted—taking advantage of the exertion of Sayk’s disarming strike, leaning back to land a well placed kick to the man’s abdomen, sending him stumbling backwards—right on to Link’s abandoned shield. With a shout Sayk slipped and fell, one of the man’s daggers flying from his hand, landing with a clattering thump several feet away; and once more Link was a blur of motion. In a flash, and to the shock of all watching, Link suddenly knelt over Sayk, holding two long, thin daggers across his neck, the handles of each featuring a distinct silver serpent winding around polished walnut. Sayk stared up at Link, wide-eyed and panting, the remaining dagger in his hand falling to the floor with a clatter.

“That—those are… his boots! Holy hell, _‘is boots_!” exclaimed Carl.

Brigo pulled his eyes from the riveting fight, feeling himself finally take a breath now that it was over, only to find Carl pointing excitedly at Link. Confused, Brigo returned his attention to the boots in question, but could discern nothing significant about them. Turning back to the barrel-chested man, he queried: “What about his boots? And… where in the world did Master Link get those daggers? Was he hiding them?”

Carl turned excitably to him, gesticulating wildly with his hands. “No—Sayk’s boots! Those’r the daggers ‘e keeps in ‘is boots! Link must have grabbed ‘em when Sayk fell. Ah, damn, he had it all planned out from the very beginning! I knew he wouldn’t let his shield be disarmed right from the get-go without a good reason!”

From his other side, Benro chuckled, and Brigo turned a wondering eye back to the arena, where Link was shaking hands with a now-standing but utterly bewildered Sayk.

“What did I tell you,” Benro mused as the trio turned back for the table. “Got his ass handed to him.”

As the three settled back down into their seats, Link walked up the steps from the arena, exhibiting nary a sign of the exertion expended in the fight, neatly placing his short sword back on its rack before continuing on up the ramp to the guards chamber doors. The same infectious smile was once more present upon his face, and as he tucked his hands into his pockets Brigo watched him go with wonder, and a newfound respect. Truly, he was the chosen of the Goddess Hylia herself.

With a sudden thump, Sayk took his seat at the table, still breathing heavily from the fight as he wiped sweat from his brow. Brigo’s attention turned from the Hero as he disappeared through the double doors, and towards the exhausted man who now leaned back in his chair. Running a hand absently through sweat-matted hair, Sayk chuckled.

“The damned fool was smiling through the whole fight…” he panted, leaning back with a bark of a laugh, “Whoever he’s seeing… they’ve got him on Goddess-damned _cloud nine_.”


	3. Two Keys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter out on Thursday, and it will be the long-awaited NSFW reunion at the Fang and Bone! See ya'lls then. Enjoy!

A springtime chill was only just beginning to permeate the nighttime air as Link settled himself upon the ground in the shadows of a large bush, opposite the shore of the castle moat. He had arrived early, but that suited him fine. It would give him a chance to catch his breath and unwind beside the rush of the Hylia River after an afternoon amongst the bustling citizens of Castletown.

After his morning training session (Sayk had been an invigorating opponent, if an obstinately nosy one), he’d decided to make use of his day off getting some distance from the overly-observant members of the guard, and headed into the city to while away the afternoon. For once he didn’t have any particular tasks to complete or errands to run, and the desire to get out of the castle and escape his title called like a siren song. He was beginning to suspect his time with ‘Hilda’ was reminding him of just how much his own identity had become subsumed by his role as champion, and how little time Link had to be, quite simply, Link. And so late afternoon found him wandering the cobbled streets in worn plain clothes, reveling in the rare feeling of anonymity—just another Hylian among hundreds; for few commoners or those of rank who did not frequent the castle recognized him without his champion’s tunic or the Master Sword upon his back.

As he strolled through the busy city, past tailors and cobblers and smithies, he found his mind wandering to a Castletown resident his duties had kept him too preoccupied to spare much thought of late. He could hardly remember the last time he’d seen her; and having never gotten the chance to make up for missing her wedding, a visit at the least was long overdue. If memory served, she and her husband Steen had opened a new bakery in Southern Castletown. Not knowing when he’d get another opportunity, he turned sharply off his meandering course, heading south along the main thoroughfare.

Though his arrival was unexpected, Beth nonetheless greeted him with enthusiasm and offered samples of every pastry on display (which he accepted with an enthusiasm to match). They spent an hour catching up at a small cafe table at the front of the store. She had settled into married life happily and business was booming, so they were trying for their first child—a prospect Link personally found daunting but nonetheless heartily congratulated her for. As the lunch rush began filing into the small establishment and Steen eyed her pleadingly over the heads of a half dozen customers, Link bid his old friend a fond farewell, gratefully taking her offered pastry for the road.

After, he went for a stroll in Castletown Park—a small but lush allotment of trees and greenery in the busy heart of the capital just south of Central Plaza. The soothing spring breezes and blossoming flowers eased what tension remained from the morning’s overly-inquisitive spar, and turned his mind to more fanciful thoughts. He never got enough time to spend out of the castle. Castletown had been one of his favorite places to explore as a kid, so often stuck shadowing his father at the castle. Though he knew the chance was essentially nonexistent, he would have loved to stroll the city with Zelda some sunny afternoon—not as the Princess’ knight-attendant, but as two ordinary Hylians; as Hilda and Ravio, reveling in the Kingdom’s prosperity and beauty. Over the years, he had learned many of the city’s hidden secrets and little-known gems. How he wished he could show her…

As the day’s light waned golden, he headed back to the heart of the city to wander instead amongst the stalls of the Central Plaza’s evening market. It was as he walked aimlessly by the many varied goods on display, relishing the bright and cheerful atmosphere, that he stumbled upon a piece of jewelry that caught his eye and stilled his wandering feet.

It wasn’t anything excessively ornate or ostentatious, but it possessed a quiet elegance that held his attention and lingered in the back of his mind. From a sparkling silver chain hung a Silent Princess in full bloom, it’s petals broad and arching as though reaching for the sun. Mother of pearl and luminous stone—pulsating a faint blue in the shaded stall, was inlaid into polished silver to create the blue and white coloring of the petals. Delicate gold stamens rose from the center, arching swan-like towards the petal tips. The pendant necklace glittered in the fading sunlight; and though Link had not come with the intention of purchasing anything, he found himself unable to lift his feet and keep walking.

“Ah, find something you like?” came the sing-song voice of the vendor from behind the display, rising eagerly from his chair.

Link silently eyed the pendant for several moments, enraptured by the gentle glow of the luminous stone and the sparkle of its gold stamens before impulse took hold of him. With a sudden lurch he reached for the satchel of rupees at his hip. Pointing to the necklace, he inquired, “How much?”

The vendor grinned broadly, leaning over the table to delicately lift the piece off its display and dangle from his hand. “Ah, this is a most unique piece! So rarely can you find a perfect Silent Princess from which to model such a beautiful work. For you, my friend, only eight hundred rupees!”

He wouldn’t exactly describe eight hundred rupees as “only”, but as a Knight and Royal Guard of Hyrule he was hardly wanting for money; and besides, the decision to purchase the necklace had been made the moment he laid eyes upon it—the price was merely a detail. Digging through the satchel, he pulled out four gold rupees, extending them forth. The salesman grinned, if possible, more broadly, scooping the rupees eagerly out of his hand.

“Ah, thank you so very much, sir! Just let me get…” the salesman trailed off, rifling through a crate beneath the table before pulling out a black velvet pouch and lowering the pendant inside, tugging the cords tight.

“A token for your wife or lady friend?” the salesman queried as he handed the pouch to Link across the display table.

He took the object in hand as the salesman’s words registered, and quite suddenly the spell which had overtaken him broke. In his mind, though the thought had not consciously registered until the man’s prompting, the pendant was for Zelda. He didn’t have a plan for how or when or where to give it to her, but upon seeing it he immediately knew—it was for her. It reminded him of all that made her so uniquely Zelda: her delicate beauty, her bold personality, and the way she bloomed into something glowing and vibrant beneath his hands in the quiet of their shared room…

But… she certainly wasn’t his wife, and neither his “lady friend”, nor even a significant other. They were… well, he wasn’t quite sure; lovers, he supposed… It wasn’t as though anything more could really come of their affair—she was the Princess of Hyrule, after all. It was just… a good time? A way to escape the pressure of their responsibilities? He suddenly felt horribly unsure…

But he’d already paid for it—he wasn’t going to change his mind now. Hand closing around the black velvet pouch he answered with a clipped “No,” before, without so much as a ‘thank you’, turning and walking away. The salesman stared after him in confusion but waved goodbye nonetheless, shouting after him a pleasant, “Come back soon!” Without another glance, Link tucked the satchel deep into his pocket. Perhaps it was best not to dwell on things he didn’t have answers to. Whatever the nature of their illicit rendezvous, they seemed to be going well, and he aimed to keep it that way.

He carried on with the rest of his evening, successfully managing to avoid thinking about the small lump in his pocket. With time to kill he’d stopped off at the Fang and Bone early to pay for their room, taking the key with him as he navigated the growing bustle of Castle Town at dusk, working his way back to the castle moat where he would await her arrival. Though he had given her a map outlined with the safest and most straightforward route to the tavern so she could traverse the city alone should the need arise, he planned to shadow her at least once anyway, to be sure the route proved as safe as he anticipated it would be.

Yet now as he sat upon the dirt in the darkening shadows, with little more to do than gaze out at a violet horizon, he found his mind wandering back to the necklace. Stretching out a leg, he reached into his pocket pulling out the two objects which filled it—the black velvet satchel and the key to room #3. Setting the key on his lap momentarily, he untied the cords of the satchel, turning it to drop the pendant into his palm. He held it aloft in one hand as he reached for the key with the other, gazing at both thoughtfully. His thumb gently stroked the jeweled flower as it glittered and glowed in the dim light.

Would he give it to her when they settled in at the tavern? Now that their rendezvous was right around the corner, he felt even less sure. Seeing the two objects side-by-side, he couldn’t shake the obvious implication that one was as a demand for the other. But would she see it that way? Would she feel pressured—as though there were now strings attached to their meetings? That was certainly the last thing he wanted. Chewing on his lip, he eyed the necklace a moment longer before coming to a decision. Gentle fingers deposited the delicate jewelry inside, pulling tightly on the cords. He wouldn’t give it to her tonight. Whether or not he gave it to her later… that he could contemplate once he was back in the privacy of his room at the castle.

Leaning back, he returned the satchel to his pocket along with the key before righting himself. A hand ran absently through messy hair as he attempted to turn his thoughts to other things. He started upon seeing a black strand flash in front of his eyes—he wasn’t used to the hair dye, and suspected that it would take a while for him to become so. Zelda, though, certainly seemed to have settled comfortably into her raven-hared persona; and it fit quite well with the… uninhibited personality she exhibited in bed.

He leaned back, palms atop the dirt, closing his eyes as his mind trail off at the thought. Images of her lithe, nude figure arching beneath him and the melodic sound of her breathless sighs filled his mind. His pants suddenly felt unbearably tight. Goddess, he couldn’t wait for her to appear…

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

As the buildings she passed gradually became taller and more cramped Zelda hurried her pace, briefly glancing down at the small map Link had drawn upon a spare slip of paper before pulling her cloak tighter about herself. She was nearing the trade district, and her ultimate destination. The route he outlined was different than what she would have considered taking, and somewhat more circuitous, but it had so far proved clean and safe, and perhaps most importantly, empty.

The night air was turning chill, creeping up the skirt of her simple linen dress and causing goosebumps to spread across her thighs. But she needn’t worry long—soon she would be ensconced within the cozy warmth of the tavern. Finally-finally, she could escape the stresses of her day, and, at least for a while, leave her life as the Princess of Destiny behind.

If the meeting with her father that afternoon weren’t enough to rile her up, dinner at the Castle had been icing on the cake, the memory lingering in her mind like the bitter aftertaste of sour meat. Word of the return of the Summertide Ball had set the courtiers gossiping and so the long table of the dining hall was full of enthusiastic chatter as she approached the large double doors at dinnertime. Zelda had hoped it would provide a convenient cover for her to slip in, eat her meal quickly and disappear—but it seemed her arrival had served merely to turn the tide of conversation in another direction.

“I heard she missed her morning prayers today.”

The voice was barely a whisper, the words only just audible to her ear. Amid all the laughter and chatter and the melodic strumming of the court bard, she couldn’t tell who was speaking—but turned her ear toward the voice nonetheless.

“Well, that should come as no surprise. We are all well acquainted with the Princess’ laziness.”

“It never ceases to amaze me how selfish she can be.”

“Do you suppose the King’s decision to continue with the Summertide Ball is an effort to distract from her failure?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised—if we have nothing else to celebrate, why not celebrate the Summertide…”

In truth, It was nothing she hadn’t heard a dozen times before; but after her father’s scolding that afternoon, her tolerance for such criticism was greatly diminished. A decade of tireless training, putting all of her own desires and dreams to the side for the sake of her people—and they dare to call her selfish!

Zelda’s hands clenched around her silverware and she stabbed at her stuffed cuckoo with more force than was strictly necessary as she cut her next bite. The fact that, once again, the meal was meat also did not escape her. She finished her dinner quickly, excusing herself to retire early so as to “rise well rested for her morning prayers”. She could almost hear the courtiers scoff from across the room as she departed the dining hall, clenching her hand into a fist to restrain her temper; but she nonetheless forced her shoulders back and head high—she would not allow them to see how their words ate at her.

Upon arriving to her chambers, she dismissed her replacement guard for the day, a hapless Sheikah by the name of Cado who bid her a cheerful goodnight. After shutting the doors her hands lingered upon the cool wood for several seconds to let her breathing even out before turning sharply on her heel, making for her wardrobe.

Far less consideration went into her outfit and hairdo this evening, deciding to exchange such considerations for expediency. The outlet for her mounting of frustrations lay just around the corner—and she would see to it that she found herself in his arms as quickly as possible.

She dug out her bottle of powdered hair die, quickly mixing it with the chuchu jelly and applying it to her hair, impatiently letting it sit for the required 10 minutes before rinsing it thoroughly from the strands. She dressed simply, throwing on a plain long sleeved knee-length linen dress and brown leather boots. With quick fingers she pinned the strands which dangled in her face back behind her head, then threw on a black woolen cloak, securing it firmly around her neck. With a final glance in the mirror she nodded, tucking the map and instructions Link had clandestinely provided in her pocket before turning and marching towards her study.

And now, a half hour later, she was closing in on the Fang and Bone. Release was so close at hand she felt as though she were trembling with want of it, and the desire to run the rest of the way nagged tauntingly. But she mustn’t become hasty lest she draw attention to herself. She still had some distance yet to go, and she needed to be mindful of her surroundings. Link had trusted her to arrive safely on her own, and she had to ensure for both their sakes she did so, undetected.

But… perhaps she had been overeager, after all. Her ears perked as a faint, near-inaudible sound reached her, echoing off the shop fronts on either side of the narrow street. Footsteps? She altered her stride, her feet landing more softly to mask the sound of her own, and there—she could hear, despite the individual’s efforts at subtlety, the sound of quiet boot steps. Though her heart began to jump she kept her stride steady, listening closely for any hint of her shadow’s intent.

The steps were quiet and firm, even and steady, and fairly paced with her own. In fact they sounded… familiar. Where could she possibly have heard them before? She cast her mind back, searching through memories, and dozens of instances of her strolling through castle hallways returned to her. It couldn’t be… Link? She could be wrong—it could be some sort of ner-do-well, but she had thought it strange he was so quick to allow her to navigate the streets of Castletown masquerading as just another pretty girl, at night, on her own. She had anticipated much more of a fight. 

Well. Just just to be safe…

She did not alter her stride, nor give any indication she heard the individual following some distance behind her. As she rounded the next corner, once out of sight she quietly darted forward, tucking herself into the shadows a nearby alley, back pressed to the wall behind a stack of barrels. She heard the footsteps hurry after her, still soft despite the increase in speed. She held her breath, gazing out a gap between the wall and the rounded wood, waiting. Sure enough, a man in a long dark cloak appeared, roughly Link’s height, glancing around the street. He turned towards her hiding spot, and in the shadows beneath his hood she could see the sparkle of a blue earring, and the glint of sharp, icy irises. She smiled. So he had followed her after all.

After glancing up and down the street, his eyes settled on the alley, narrowing as he moved towards it. He was likely to find her quickly, which wouldn’t be quite as much fun—but… hm. Why not surprise him? She’d never had a chance to practice outside her lessons—this would be a worthwhile experiment. With an impish smile, she crouched, waiting to strike.

As he moved past the barrels into the alley proper she leapt, blood pumping, grabbing him by the lapels and spinning to thrust him against the wall; but with a lurch he turned her own force against her, spinning further as his hands grabbed hers, pulling them roughly away from his cloak and pinning them above her head, pressing her back to the brick. With the sudden movement his hood fell back and he smirked, meeting her surprised gaze.

She let out a pant, smiling nonetheless. “So you were following me.”

With his hood removed, she noted his hair was now the same dark shade as her own. It seemed he had managed the hair dye without much trouble. And although she had always liked his blond hair, she had to admit black suited him equally well.

“Zelda,” he greeted in acknowledgment, a smile growing, “Glad to see you making use of your self-defense lessons.”

She could feel his warm breath ghost over her face, causing a slight shiver unrelated to the crisp evening air. Absently she wriggled her wrists to test his grip—firm and unyielding, as expected. She tilted her head, attempting to ignore the enticing warmth of his hips against hers as she asked with genuine curiosity, “Why give me a map and such detailed instructions if you were just going to follow me anyway?”

“To make sure the route proved safe and that you actually followed it. Call it a trial run.”

She pouted slightly, but the effect was halfhearted. Now that the brief spike in adrenalin had worn off, It was growing difficult to ignore his nearness. Despite the darkness of the alley she found herself enraptured with his eyes—striated shades of turquoise and blue, glinting in the pale moonlight. Every point their bodies touched sizzled with an acute awareness of his warmth, even through the layers of fabric. His smile began to fade as his gaze intensified, the air thickening with mutual desire in the dark, quiet night. His eyes flicked down to her lips and back, the want in them a physical thing. She felt her heart skip a beat. Then without a word, he leaned in slowly to kiss her.

It was soft and gentle, but an undercurrent of urgency set her blood pumping and left her just a little bit breathless. He pulled away far too soon for her liking and so she followed after, eyes fluttering shut as she captured his lips, nibbling on his lower lip as the tension she had felt all day began to bubble and froth, transforming into a frenzied desire. He released her wrists in favor of wrapping his hands around her waist, and she moved her arms to encircle his neck, pulling him closer.

With a groan he pressed against her hips more firmly, one hand rising to her neck, thumb stroking her jaw as he tilted her head to deepen the kiss. It was hot and hungry, tongue tracing the outline of her mouth before delving within, sliding gently, teasingly against her own. She melted into him, grateful for the wall behind her as her legs were quickly becoming unable to support her. His hand was roaming slowly upward along her waist beneath the heavy cloak, and she felt her flesh tingle and thrill as he neared her breasts. But suddenly, unexpectedly, he stopped—just short of where she needed him, and her body screamed in protest. He pulled away with a pant, resting his forehead against hers—and spoke before she could voice objection.

“Let’s get to the tavern. I’ve already got a room,” he said breathlessly, subconsciously rolling his hips—and his growing hardness—against her. She felt heat flare in her core, breathing in the intoxicating smell of his sun-touched skin as she nodded. Without waiting for his lead she grabbed him firmly by the hand, turning with newfound urgency towards the mouth of alley and down the street to the Fang and Bone. He followed wordlessly after, hand tight around hers.


	4. Finding Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the much-anticipated NSFW chapter. Enjoy~!

She bit her lip, feeling warm in the face as they walked up the stairs to the tavern’s second floor. Her grip on Link’s hand did not slacken until they reached the top of the stairs where Link walked briskly ahead of her, fishing in his pocket for the key. He led her silently to a door toward the end of the hall adorned with a carved wooden ‘3’. Inserting the key, he deftly turned the lock.

She wasted little time shutting and locking the door behind them both as Link retreated deeper into the room to divest himself of his cloak. She paused with her hand atop the deadbolt, taking a moment to calm her wildly beating heart. She could feel the tug of that frenzied desire from the alley pulling her insistently towards the bed, her anticipation rising to meet it. Here in their room there were no courtiers, no painful failures or obligations to meet—just her, and Link, and the raw want simmering between them.

Behind her she heard Link’s quiet boot steps approaching, and with a steadying breath she turned to greet him with a sly, devilish smile. His eyes were dark with want but rimmed with curiosity as he observed her, gaze roving back and forth between her eyes and lips. She moved toward him suddenly—silently but with purpose, raising a hand to his chest and pushing forcefully until he stumbled backward, eyes wide with surprise. Her pulse spiked with adrenalin. He kept his balance but she didn’t remove her hand, shepherding him roughly towards the edge of the bed, him stumbling to keep up. As his calves hit the back of the mattress she pushed harder, sending him toppling backward with a startled shout.

Link stared up at her wide-eyed, knees dangling off the side. Zelda smiled down at him. With the close of the door she had shut out more than just the noise of the tavern—she shut out her nervousness and hesitancy as well. And with each press of her hand—each expression of agency, she felt a boldness and a hunger flood her veins. A thrill sang through her body at the power she felt standing over him like this—legs caging his calves, pressed against the bedside; and she didn’t intend to stop there.

“Zelda?”

His tone wasn’t confused or angry, nor even displeased; he sounded almost… impressed. Curious; eager. She felt her smile curl wickedly at the edges, heart drumming steadily in her chest. She responded to his query not with words, but with actions. Grasping the clasp at the neck of her cloak she unhooked it, letting it fall to the floor at her feet. With equally swift movements she leaned forward, reaching for the hem of her dress before pulling it up and over her head in one smooth motion. Cool air hit warm skin, and as her hair fell to her breasts her her nipples began to peak beneath the dark strands. She let the garment fall from her hands to the floor with a soft rustle, watching Link closely for his reaction.

“ _Zelda_ …” he breathed, blue eyes darkening as his gaze raked hungrily up and down her figure, calloused hands tightening on the patchwork comforter beneath him.

She bit her lip to contain her glee. She’d wanted to leave the castle for the tavern as quickly as possible after retiring to her chambers for the night; so instead of wasting precious time debating which undergarments would please him most, she had opted for none. Based on his current expression, she decided it was a winning choice.

Stepping carefully out of her boots she lifted slender legs, settling her knees on either side of his thighs along the edge of the mattress and leaning over him, framing his head with her hands. She watched his widening eyes with growing excitement, the increasingly rapid rise and fall of his chest its own strange aphrodisiac. Slowly lowering herself above him she stilled once her face hovered mere inches above his, smiling down coyly. He didn’t move though she saw how his hands itched to. After a tortuous moment she lowered her lips to his ear, whispering.

“I took the contraceptive elixir. It’s now… _effective_.”

She emphasized the last word with salacious intent, relishing its implications on her tongue. Beneath her she felt him stiffen, pulling back to enjoy the expression on his face. His pupils were wide and dark, blotting out the blue. He drank her in as though she were the only water for miles beneath the midday desert sun. She held his gaze, feeling her heart quicken and her skin tingle the longer she held his intensity; then, suddenly, he uttered a low, guttural growl and she was being pulled down by the neck, her bare breasts pressing against his shirt as his mouth crushed against her own.

The kiss was frenzied, and tasted of freedom. His lips moved urgently against hers, hungry and yearning. He sucked hard on her lower lip, his tongue tracing its contours before nipping and nibbling, delving into the recesses of her mouth to claim its hidden secrets. The passion of his kiss and the warmth of his body beneath her was wildly intoxicating—as though she were downing shots of Goron Fire Whiskey all over again. The sum of her world quickly narrowed to this sliver of existence; just him and her—the fire of his kiss, and the electric sizzle between their bodies.

His fingers reached up to thread through her hair, gripping tightly and angling her head for better access. Her breasts shifted, nipples rubbing teasingly against the rough cotton of his shirt. She gasped and he took advantage to push his tongue deeper, leaving her breathless. His free hand rose to her waist, trailing tortuously downward, fingertips pressing and scraping against her flesh. When his hand finally settled his fingers spread, gently splayed over the curve of her backside before squeezing possessively. Zelda’s heart thumped like a rabbit in her chest, nerves ablaze, acutely aware of his calloused touch and the nearness of his body—so very close, but not near enough.

She pulled back to take a gasping breath, and Link used the opportunity to trail hot kisses down the column of her throat. Her breath caught, the unexpected yet dizzying motion of his tongue swirling against her skin eliciting shivers, whimpers. The need to feel him elsewhere rose within her like a tidal wave. She hurriedly lifted her torso to give enough room for her hand between their bodies, searching frantically for the bottom hem of his shirt. After several impatient moments she finally found it and slipped her hand beneath. Firm abs greeted her, his muscles tensing beneath her touch as fingertips grazed ridges of muscle. Her hand trailed urgently upward. She ghosted over taut nipples, offering a brief, teasing flick before moving toward the center of his chest. His heart beat hard and steady beneath her palm and for a moment she closed her eyes, relishing the feel of it beneath her hand.

Unexpectedly—abruptly, her world was spinning, followed soon by the sensation of rough quilted cotton against her bare back. Her eyes popped open and she found herself looking not down but upward, pinned beneath Link. But she didn’t have much opportunity to contemplate this reversal before Link was pulling away—leaning back on his knees as he reached for the bottom of his shirt and lifted, pulling the garment up and over his head. Zelda allowed herself a moment to admire his muscular figure before turning her gaze to his waist, hands rising to the close of his pants. As his shirt landed on the floor with a rustle he turned his attention to where she struggled with the second of far too many buttons.

“ _Off_ ,” she demanded breathlessly, glaring hatefully at the garment. He eyed her with a smirk and a raised brow.

“Is that an order?” He eyed her humorously as he proceeded to undo his trousers.

Heat pooled low in her belly at the comment—sudden and unexpected, catching her off guard. She bit her lip as a new thought flitted through her mind, taking stubborn root. In their first encounter, despite taking great strides to ensure her comfort and consent, Link had largely been in control. She’d never been intimate with another before, shielded even from mention of such scandalous things; but Link had seemed far more comfortable with it, and so she had followed his lead and the pleasures of her own body. Even when she’d taken him in her mouth, she had done so at his direction.

Their second time together they had met on more equal ground, both having been far too eager and desperate for the other.

But… what if she were in control, this time? She had felt that exhilaration earlier, as she pushed him onto the bed—and his playful comment brought the prospect to mind as a serious possibility; and she found, to her own surprise, it… _thrilled_ her.

Link stepped briefly off the bed, his trousers and underwear falling to the floor in a rumpled pile around his boots before he climbed atop her again, bare as she; but as he leaned in to kiss her, she interrupted him with an answer.

“Yes,” she breathed, heart hammering. Her eyes were wide as they held his; nervous. He stilled above her, gazing at her in confusion.

“Yes what?”

She bit her lip. “Yes—that was an order. If… if that’s okay?”

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, the arousal-fueled bravery fading. This was hardly a direct way to ask after what she wanted; but she didn’t know how to vocalize it any better, and wasn’t sure she had the courage to try again. He eyed her a moment as though puzzling out a foreign tongue before his eyes widened with sudden understanding.

Silence reigned in their small room, broken only by the sounds of their heavy breathing and faint shouts of laughter from the tavern downstairs by the time he responded.

“Yes,” he breathed, chest heaving with the effort. She blinked in surprise.

“Yes?”

He nodded vigorously, “Yes,” then leaned in eagerly to kiss her before she could inquire further.

If it were even possible, his assent not only rekindled her arousal but set it ablaze. She was… _He_ was… Oh, _Goddess_.

She whimpered, her hands scrabbling against his back in an effort to pull him closer, their breaths mingling in a wild dance of lips and tongue and teeth. After breathless moments he tore away from her mouth, trailing kisses down her jaw to her neck, then up to her ear where his heavy breaths and soft lips tickled the sensitive flesh and sent shivers up her spine.

Pleasurably muddled though she felt, she did not lose sight of the fact that it was supposed to be her in charge—so with effort she pushed her hips up into his, grinding herself against his hardness and forcing him to stillness as he groaned against her neck. Gathering her strength, she pushed further—angled her momentum; and in a moment they had reversed position in a tangle of limbs, with her sitting astride his lap. He stared up at her in a daze and she huffed a laugh, righting herself atop him until the apex of her thighs hovered over his hips.

Steadying herself, she relished the surprise in his gaze as she let her fingertips trail down his chest leaving lines of pink in the wake of her down turned nails. A choked sound escaped his lips as her fingers neared the trail of hair below his bellybutton, committing the sound to memory—something for her lonely nights in bed at the castle, before leaning down to meet his lips once more. Aligning their hips, she lowered her womanhood gently atop his length. Warmth spread low in her belly at this connection of intimate places, and Link likewise groaned against her lips. She was quickly melting, the feel of him like the warmth of the Lurelin sun dissolving her being like an ice cube in the sand. She had nearly become lost when the lingering fragments of her awareness caught on the sensation of his calloused hands moving to rest atop her hips. Unceremoniously she pulled away.

_She_ was in control, this time.

“No,” she breathed roughly, sitting upright as she reached for his hands. He eyed her with worried confusion, and she felt a teasing smile tug at her lips. She moved his limp wrists back to the mattress, placing them atop the comforter on either side of her knees. “You don’t get to touch—not yet. Keep your hands there.”

She observed her command register in his expression, confusion fading into stunned surprise, fading further into arousal. After a moment he relaxed his arms onto the bed, nodding his assent, throat bobbing with a hard swallow.

Satisfied, she placed her hands back on his chest and tested her position atop him. She was already smeared with her own wetness and felt herself slide smoothly along his shaft. She was reminded of their first night together, when his length had accidentally brushed against her and she had ground herself into him. Though the details were hazy, she remembered the shock of pleasure it had given her, then; perhaps, with him at her mercy, she should try once more?

She pushed herself forward experimentally, folds sliding smoothly along him before her clit found obstacle in the head of his cock, pressing and rubbing against the sensitive bundle of nerves. A shudder ran through her and she bit her lip, letting out an involuntary whimper. _Oh_.

She slid herself back along his shaft then pushed herself slowly forward, repeating the motion, shuddering as she rubbed wetly against him. Her nerves flared in the most delicious way, tingling in tortuous pleasure. Firming her grip atop his chest she started up a slow rhythm, sliding back and forth along him, relishing each time the bundle of nerves rubbed wetly against the crown of his cock. Bursts of electricity shuddered through her—again, again, and again—building a slow but steady heat in her core.

The scratch of nails against stitching momentarily drew her attention to her surroundings and her eyes fluttered open, only to find link’s arms gripping tightly to the comforter in an effort to keep them still atop the bed, eyes slammed shut. She felt a swooping sensation in her stomach at the power she suddenly realized she held over him, near writhing in pleasure beneath her as she took her own atop him. Biting her lip to keep another whimper from escaping her, she slid along him twice more, watching his shoulders quiver and the tendons in his neck strain.

Upon her third slide he opened his eyes, and their gazes locked. His eyes were dark—his expression hungry; hungry, but determinedly subservient. Oh _Goddess_ …

As her clit pressed once more against his head sending a broken shudder through her, she pushed further, angled her hips, then slid back hard—taking his full length inside her. He made a strangled sound to match her throaty moan and her head fell forward, all awareness preoccupied by the dizzying sensation of her womanhood stretching to accommodate his girth after far too many nights with only her slim fingers for comfort.

Oh, and it was _Link_ insider her— _Link_ who was driving her to madness… _Link_ —

“Touch me,” she whispered breathlessly, voice commanding despite its softness. He didn’t hesitate, raising both hands to her breasts—cupping, kneading, thumbs brushing the stiff peaks of her nipples as she started up a desperate rhythm atop him. Hips up, down, harder, faster. Calloused fingers traced patterns over her breasts, her nipples—fingers clawed down her sides to her hips where they gripped tightly, helping her quicken the pace.

She was in ecstasy—felt positively feverish. Every nerve was on fire and magma flowed through her veins, building a dizzying warmth between her legs. Throwing her head back, she angled her hips to take him deeper. And she could, at this angle—he was deeper than when he’d taken her on the side of the bed, his length reaching every inch of warm flesh within her, pressing hard against a sensitive spot so deep within that sent shivers up her spine and turned the warmth between her legs into a scalding heat.

“Oh, _Goddess_ ,” she moaned, nails digging into his chest. She pushed harder—deeper, moved faster.

“Link,” she uttered brokenly, neck lolling back as she thrust with desperate urgency, “ _Link_ , I—I…”

Link’s hands tightened around her hips, a grunt issuing from him as he helped pull her hips down in time with her erratic thrusts. The heat was becoming unbearable. Electricity crackled through her. A coil low in her belly was tightening and it was so close to snapping.

“Link—”

“ _Zelda_ —”

She thrust down hard—he pushed up, harder; the coil snapped. Stars exploded behind her eyes and she shattered around him. But he didn’t stop; he continued to thrust, her torso snapping forward as broken shudders wracked her body. She felt her throat burn, though had no conscious awareness of screaming. Then, before her orgasm had remotely subsided her world was once more spinning and she landed on her back again, Link atop her—still within her. He leaned over her limp form, his head buried against her neck as both hands reached for her backside, holding tight to each cheek as he thrust like a man possessed, his lips hungry against her neck as he sucked at the junction of her shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise.

Though her peak had passed, the tingling wave of pleasure from her orgasm hadn’t ebbed—and Link’s change of position was stoking it right back up. She stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, mouth agape and gasping, hands scrabbling dumbly against the mattress as bursts of pleasure surged through tingling nerves, heat pooling rapidly between her legs once more.

“ _Link_ —” she gasped, finally finding purchase on a section of uneven stitching. Her legs rose to wrap instinctively around his waist, and he angled her hips, finding deeper purchase as he moved urgently against her overstimulated body. She groaned throatily, eyes slamming shut as tremors wracked her tired frame, the warmth between her legs smoldering—threatening to catch fire all over again. That familiar coil had returned to its tense, trembling state, and she felt as though she would scream from want of release.

Link’s thrusts were becoming more rapid and more desperate. He pushed hard into her, hit that sensitive spot again—bit her neck, tongue laving the bruised skin; and then she was undone, hands rising frantically to claw down his back as she gave voice to a second orgasm. And soon Link was following, groaning into her neck as he gave a final, deep push before shuddering and falling still.

She was panting beneath him. He was panting atop her. She stared dazedly up at the ceiling, mind spinning, every corner of her body tingling with hypersensitive aftershocks. And then, suddenly, Link laughed, low and throaty as he rose above her, leaning in to capture her lips softly. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks as he kissed her, savoring his gentle, tender passion. When he pulled away, he was smiling, shaking his head.

“You are a _vixen_ ,” he husked, nuzzling against her cheek as he gently nipped at her ear. Zelda felt her face heat further, but would not be so easily teased; not this time.

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” she chided playfully, lowering her legs from around his hips only to be assaulted by the many cramps which had formed during their lovemaking.

Slowly and with aching gentleness Link pulled out of her, rolling off and landing on his back beside her with a _whump_ and a sigh. She could feel his release trickle onto her thigh—a strange feeling, but not an unpleasant one; and one that left her with an unfamiliar warmth in her chest. After a moment his hand reached for hers, interlocking their fingers. Zelda felt a flutter in her belly and squeezed, biting her lip to keep the goofy grin she knew was struggling to rise to her face at bay.

“I don’t think I can move,” Link groaned with a laugh. Zelda smiled sheepishly, rolling onto her side and snuggling into the crook of his arm to hide the warmth suffusing her cheeks. He pulled her close, and she allowed herself the pleasure of tangling her feet with his.

“Well… I suppose we don’t have to. At least not for a while.”

She glanced up at him to see his eyes closed, a soft smile playing about his lips.

“Mmm. That sounds good.”

Then he pulled her closer, turning to kiss the crown of her head without bothering to open his eyes. Zelda smiled and blushed, happily burrowing deeper into him.


	5. Pillow Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh... this is where I remind everyone that this story is an installment in a series that makes up a larger, longer story. So... yeah.

Zelda’s head lay against his chest, her hand draped across his abdomen. Link’s thumb traced mindless patterns on her shoulder where he held her. He buried his nose into her hair, breathing her in. She smelled of the familiar sweet musk of her honeysuckle perfume, with faint undertones of sweat and sex. It was a heady combination. Absently, he wondered if she might be up for another round soon… They’d never gone more than once, but it was something he’d be very, very keen to do with her, were she interested.

She shifted in his hold, burrowing deeper and letting out a slow breath which tickled his neck. He felt a flutter in his chest, a smile pulling stubbornly at his lips, and held her closer.

When had he grown so soft? He wasn’t usually quite this soppy after sex. A little cuddling, sure—that was just being gentlemanly, and it did feel particularly nice in the afterglow. But there was _something_ about Zelda that made him weak. He wanted to hold her closer, feel every inch of her he could for as long as he could. It hadn’t been all that long since the last time they’d been here—ten days to be exact. But having to treat her at such a remove day-to-day, having to keep his distance and his demeanor polite and formal when she was right there within arm’s reach… it made being with her like this all the more to be treasured with every ounce of his being.

Zelda hummed contentedly, legs shifting between his so that her toes absently rubbed at the back of his ankle.

“How about the night of the next new moon?”

Link stilled his nose, letting out a breath which fanned over her ear. She shivered in his arm.

“That’s about… three weeks?” He tried to hide the disappointment in his voice.

She hummed again. “You will probably hear about it tomorrow, but the Summertide Ball is back on—I don’t see another opportunity until after it is over.”

He murmured his assent, trailing his nose upward into her hair line. He would, of course, have preferred sooner; but caution came first. He could wait.

“Three weeks, then,” he confirmed, his breath ghosting between the strands of her hair. He could feel gooseflesh rising on her shoulder beneath his hand and smiled, nuzzling further into her darkened locks. Just as he was debating the merits of dragging a hand lower she turned to face him, shifting the mattress with her movements. She uncurled her hand to place her palm flat upon his chest for leverage, smiling up at him, her cheeks an endearing pink. He smiled back, moving his arm to better support her.

“Link, I… I’m glad we did this. That our first time was with each other. I can’t think of anyone else I would have wanted to… to do this with.”

He fell preternaturally still, a stone dropping suddenly into his stomach.

Since pulling the master sword he had become a talent at masking his emotions—controlling his tells. With all of the expectation put upon him, Zelda’s early resentment, the way the other soldiers had looked up to him as some grand beacon of hope… playing it cool under any circumstance had become a vital skill for his survival in the castle and at court. So hew knew without a shadow of a doubt that for a brief moment before he got his shock under control, his expression had looked panicked. And, gauging by the furrow in Zelda’s brow, she had seen it.

“Link?”

His smile was already back in place, but he could feel the palm of his hand beginning to sweat. His brain was still half submerged in post-coital glow and was struggling to shift into higher gear. He should have seen this coming; he was an _idiot_ for not thinking this far ahead, and for thinking that the subject of his sexual history would never come up.

Should he lie to her? Did he just come out and say it? But how the hell did he do so without making her feel… uncomfortable? Or worse—used? Though extraordinarily intelligent and well traveled, she had been quite sheltered much of her life from these sorts of things, as were most well bred young women groomed to model tenets of chastity. He couldn’t begin to guess how she would take learning that she was nowhere near the first woman he’d slept with.

She tentatively pulled her hand from his chest as she continued to stare up at him, expression increasingly worried.

“Is… everything all right? You don’t regret—”

“ _No_ ,” Link interrupted firmly, lifting his hand to hold her small fist gently. “No, I don’t regret anything in the _least_ …”

“Then… what’s wrong?”

The gears in his head weren’t turning nearly fast enough, he decided. Lying to her felt wholly wrong, but he didn’t want to scare her with the truth, either—and couldn’t figure out which option she would take more positively. But as he continued to stare at her, lips struggling to hold its reassuring smile and mind spinning in circles, her eyes filled with a sudden clarity of understanding.

“I’m… not the first woman you’ve been with.”

It was not a question but a statement; and he could tell, there were a multitude of feelings behind it.

“Zelda, I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t…”

She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes as she slowly sat up in bed. He remained still, heart kicking up its tempo, fearing that any sudden movement on his part would send her fleeing like a startled rabbit. When she finally looked at him, her eyes weren’t angry or upset, but they were guarded.

“I’m sorry Link, I shouldn’t have assumed,” she said with a breath. She offered him a small smile attempting to regain her footing, and he felt his heart soar with relief; but it was short lived.

“I’m content to be the second.”

His stomach plummeted again—they was back to where they started. The cogs in his head were grinding angrily with his sluggish efforts at battlefield analysis. The desire to simply latch onto her assumption that she was the second woman he’d been with was strong. It would be so easy; easy, but wrong. He was navigating extraordinarily delicate territory, and like a battlefield, one misstep and it could all go horribly wrong.

Unfortunately for him, his brain was currently too panicked to handle ‘delicate’ at all well.

He opened his mouth to speak—he needed to say something quickly, be it a false confirmation or a tactfully conveyed truth—just _something_ to allay her fears before they grew out of proportion; but nothing came out. The panic grew, clawing at his throat. He tried again, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, but still words escaped him. Her eyes sharpened and she tilted her head, eyes narrowing as realization began to dawn.

“I’m… not the second woman you’ve been with, either.”

This time, it was stated with growing suspicion and an undertone of betrayal. His heart was beating harder and harder against his ribcage. He tried again—words, Goddess dammit, _words_ —! But all that came out was a raspy sputter.

“Third,” she demanded lowly; no longer a question.

The panic was a beast caged within him, seizing his faculties as the silence stretched, his mind a muddled fog of ‘ _no, no, no, no, no—’_. Zelda slowly pulled the covers further and further up her body, covering more of her nude form. She was feeling vulnerable—overexposed. That was a bad sign, a very, _very_ bad sign…

“How many,” she demanded, shifting further away from him and turning her gaze to the opposite wall.

“Zelda…“ he finally managed to croak between very dry lips, “It’s not—you’re not a number…“

“HOW MANY?!” she suddenly shouted, her white-knuckled hands trembling where they clutched the bed sheets to her chest.

Link jumped, feeling more shaken at the anger in her voice than he’d ever felt fighting out in the field. He couldn’t lie now, it would only dig his grave deeper; he just had to hope she would be willing to listen.

“I… I’m not—I’m not really sure, maybe… Te-ten?” he uttered quietly, mind a whirlwind of cheap excuses and half-formed sentences.

Zelda recoiled, eyes murderous as she turned her gaze on him. She said nothing for several moments during which Link felt as though his heart would give out from the strain of its heavy beats. His mind was racing for something to say—he had to make her understand! He’d never meant to deceive her in any way. The others… it had been fun, sure, and he’d felt close to a few of them, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t _this_ … She was special—she _meant_ something.

“Zelda, you’re not—I didn’t… I would _never_ …” he babbled weakly, running a hand nervously through his hair, feeling the tremble of his fingers against his scalp. “You—you’re not _like_ the others—”

As soon as the words were spoken he immediately his mouth, wishing with all his soul he could take the foolish words back. She laughed bitterly, hugging the sheet tighter.

“Is that what you tell all the girls?” she asked waspishly. He stared at her open-mouthed, feeling as though he’d been (rightly) slapped. But before he could muster a response, she spoke again with a tone of sinking, painful realization.

“That’s… that’s all I am, isn’t it? Just another notch in your belt?”

“ _No_ —“ he uttered breathlessly, sickened by the very thought; but Zelda didn’t stop there.

“Goddess, how could I have been so _stupid_?! That’s all I am—bragging rights! ’I deflowered the Princess of Hyrule—beat that, boys!’” she bit out in a mocking tone, swinging her legs angrily out of the bed and turning her back to him.

Link felt kicked in the stomach. “Gods no, Zelda _no_ , that’s not—“

“Get out.”

Her shoulders quivered but her voice was firm—and ice cold.

“Zelda—“ he swung out of bed quickly, rushing to the other side to kneel at her feet, nude before her scathing gaze. How did he convince her? He needed to make her _understand_ —!

“Zelda wait, _please_ , I can—“

“GET OUT!” she shouted. Then suddenly, she stood, clutching the sheet desperately to her chest and ripping it angrily from the bed. Link stood as well, feeling so very small but desperate to fix whatever had suddenly fallen apart. He raised his hands in a placating gesture, but it did little to calm her. Her hands—hands that had not long ago locked with his in a tender embrace, pressed forcefully against his chest, pushing him backward towards the door. He stumbled, stunned by her unexpected strength.

“Zelda—“

“OUT!” she screamed, shrill and furious and, above all—pained. Before he could process what was happening she had pushed him back to the wall and wrenched open the door. With a final violent shove she knocked him on to the floor of the hall, backside landing hard on the hall runner. He stared up at her in shock, her eyes furious and hurt and crinkled with the effort of withholding tears. From near her feet tangled in the sheet dragging behind her she grabbed his pants, throwing them angrily at his face before slamming the door. The dull thunk of the deadbolt slid into place, echoing quietly in the empty hall.

Guilt and humiliation heated his face and he hurriedly lowered the pants to cover his groin as he pulled himself to his knees, pounding desperately on the door.

“Z—Hilda, _please_ …” he begged—but only silence greeted him. He kept pounding, kept pleading, but with each hit of his fist he felt the fight bleed out of him. “Can we talk about this? I didn’t mean—I spoke poorly, you aren’t…” he let out a pained breath, chest aching as he ceased his hammering and let his head hit the door with a dull thump instead. “Please…” he begged weakly, “Just let me _explain_ …”

In the silence, with his head so close to the wood, he could hear the unmistakable sound of sobbing on the other side. She was sobbing… because of him. The realization hit him hard and he felt the air leave his lungs. So quietly he almost missed it, she whispered brokenly through the door the last words he would hear from her that night.

“Go _away_ …”

His heart plummeted somewhere down by his ankles. His fingers curled into a fist against the wood, and he let out a choked breath, his own eyes stinging. _Goddess help him_ …

There would be no fixing this tonight. He didn’t know if he could fix it at all, but couldn’t bear the thought of that possibility right now. He could only bear to focus on the immediate moment; that was agonizing enough. There was one thing he _could_ do: what she asked of him—as a show of respect and good faith. If she wanted space, then he would give her space. Fortunately or unfortunately, he couldn’t give her too much of it. He was still responsible for her safety; he would have to remain close by.

Allowing a moment for the lump in his throat to go away, he answered quietly through the door.

“Alright.”

Closing his eyes he ran a hand down his face, trying to stuff his wildly flailing emotions into a box. He would get nowhere if he dwelt in them for too long, and he was now faced with a new set of predicaments he needed to solve sooner rather than later: he needed clothing, for one, and to figure out new sleeping arrangements, for another. The barkeep might still be up—maybe he could get another room if any were available. Oh, but explaining why he needed another room in the middle of the night… his chest tightened painfully at the thought, expression shamefaced.

With a pained breath he forced himself upright, shifting his pants to more firmly cover his manhood as he glanced around the hall to see if anyone was about—only to find a young man peering from a crack in his door, watching with morbid curiosity. With a scowl Link stared the man down, growling dangerously.

“What are _you_ looking at?”

The man’s eyes grew wide and fearful as their gazes locked, and he quickly withdrew his head, shutting the door and sliding the deadbolt into place with a hurried snap. Feeling significantly more soured, he quickly slipped into his trousers before shuffling downstairs.

The bar was dimly lit, the chairs all resting upside-down atop their respective tables. A rough-looking young woman was wiping down booths as he descended the final step, and turned to him as he gazed aimlessly around. As their eyes met, Link felt his face heat—but she seemed thoroughly unsurprised and unperturbed to see him wandering around shirtless in the middle of the night. As he debated whether or not to run back upstairs in shame and sleep against the door, she called towards the kitchens in a bored voice.

“Hey, Kilton, we got another one!”

Link felt momentary confusion before understanding dawned. He… probably wasn’t the first to have this happen at this establishment. Humiliation briefly washed over him at being an official part of… that particular club of people. How the mighty do fall…

Turning towards where she had hollered, he saw the proprietor of the establishment, Kilton—a strange, rotund man with two buck teeth and roughly manicured facial hair—waddling out of the kitchens. He quickly spotted Link, giving him a once over before offering a sympathetic smile and a wave of his hand.

“Ah, worry not, happens all the time. You can dig through the lost and found for a shirt if you’d like. Will you need another room or would you prefer to sleep in a booth? The room’ll cost ya—booth’s free.”

Link trudged after the man, acutely aware of the young woman’s eyes on him. “Another room, please,” he murmured dejectedly.

Kilton chuckled. “Fine by me.”

“And…” he added quietly, “If… if available, one near room three would be preferred.”

Kilton glanced pityingly over his shoulder as he opened a closet door to reveal a haphazard pile of clothing in a wooden crate, gesturing to it. “I’m sure she’ll cool off by morning. Don’t you worry.”

Link grimaced, choosing not to respond with the fact that, no, no she would not. Instead, he began digging through the pile, pulling out a threadbare cotton shirt in what appeared to be his size.

As it turned out, Kilton just so happened to have the room next to hers available. After quietly closing the door of room number four behind him, Link found himself walking not to the bed, but to the adjacent wall. He stopped before it, placing a hand tentatively against the wood and leaning his head against it. She was just on the other side—so close and yet so far away. Just like she’d always been.

For the first time since she had kicked him out, he felt moisture build behind his eyelids. Furiously he blinked them back, turning sharply from the wall and heading angrily to the bed.

The hurt side of him was upset and resentful she hadn’t given him a proper chance to explain—but the rational side of him understood why she might feel so betrayed. He sincerely doubted her life up till now had allowed time for her to grow and explore herself sexually as his had. Hell, he didn’t even really know if she’d ever touched herself before their time together. He had, perhaps wrongly, assumed she had based solely on how comfortably she had taken to penetration. That, and she had proved a surprisingly passionate, aggressive lover—not something he would expect of someone completely inexperienced.

As soon as his mind cast back to their previous encounters searching for signs, he felt a pit in his stomach and forcibly refocused on the clench of his fists. The memories were too hard to relive. Either way—he had still been her first partner, and perhaps hadn’t treated that fact with the respect and delicacy it deserved.

_But_ , his hurt insisted— _how was he to know?_ How was he to know where she stood on these things? What she was sensitive about and what she felt confident in? He had tried to keep pressure and expectations minimal—tried to let her control the pace of things and set boundaries. He hadn’t lied to her—hadn’t intentionally kept anything from her, they simply… hadn’t talked about their sexual histories. Was that really his fault?

Yes, he’d had a good deal of sex with a fair number of people and had experience with a lot of different things; but he wasn’t a womanizer, and had never led any of them to believe their encounters were anything more than just a good time between two people who enjoyed each others’ company. And besides, since becoming her knight he had stopped seeing people all together. His duty to Hyrule, and to Zelda, were far more important and deserved every ounce of his dedication and focus; and he’d given it.

But she was _different_. She wasn’t just someone whose company he enjoyed, or someone with which to have a good romp in the sheets. He genuinely cared about her—not simply as a sexual partner but as a friend, too. She was smart and curious and caring and passionate and so much more fiery than he ever could have guessed… She was beautiful and vibrant, and managed to make his heart beat in a way no woman he’d ever been with had. She was special, dammit! And he never got a proper chance to tell her.

He pulled back the sheets, lying down beneath the covers and staring blankly up at the ceiling. As his eyes absently followed the dancing shadows he let out a choked, weary sigh.

It was his fault, he decided morosely. As his father used to say, _‘Those with greater experience hold the burden of leadership’_. It wasn’t a perfect analogy, but the sentiment fit. He had the experience she lacked and knew what kinds of pitfalls there could be—knew the importance of communication in a sexual relationship. He should have done more to make sure they were on the same page, and that all their boundaries had been mutually agreed upon. But for some reason, with her he just… stopped thinking straight.

So… maybe he did deserve her anger, in the end.

He turned his gaze away from the ceiling and rolled fitfully onto his side. The double bed felt far too big without her—and the sheets were cold, absent her warmth. A part of him had been looking so forward to doing nothing more than hold her as she slept—to feel her warm flesh against his own, their legs entwined and her fingers laced with his. But instead, he was alone, a lumpy spare pillow his only company. Feeling the prickle behind his eyes again, he shut them tightly, curling in on himself and hoping that would make the hollow in his heart feel less gaping.

But as he pulled his legs up against his chest, he felt something dig into his hip. With a start he retracted his leg, reaching into his pocket with a sickening feeling. He pulled forth the black velvet pouch, his lungs tightening with distress as he stared at it. Sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he pulled on the drawstrings and dumped the contents into the palm of his hand. The pendant glittered and glowed in the dim lamp light, and for several moments he simply stared at it, a confused numbness washing over him in waves. With a fingertip he gently turned the pendant in his palm; and soon the numbness faded, heartache taking its place. Despite his best efforts, he felt the tears flow silently down his cheeks. With a tense flex of his wrist he closed his fingers over the necklace in his palm, nails slowly biting crescents into his flesh.

He wanted her back; wanted to hold her again, to see her smile with that warmth she reserved just for him—to feel her delicate fingers graze his cheek as she leaned in to kiss him. He had never wanted anything more, and had he more presence of mind would have been startled by just how much he did. He could assign blame, analyze the situation left right and forward, or what-if until the day was long; In the end, it didn’t really matter. She was angry and hurt, and he had hurt her. He wasn’t sure how, and he wasn’t sure how long it would take, but he would make this right; and if that meant begging her on bended knee, doing handstands, or running through the castle in the buff—dignity be damned, he’d do it.

-:-:-:-:-

Sobs wracked her body and she couldn’t seem to get them to stop. Goddess, why did it _hurt_ so much?!

How foolish she had been… How naive and childish and stupid. For a moment, a fleeting, glorious moment, she had thought there might be someone out there who could see her, who cared even just a little—who she could trust to be completely open with. But she was just another prize to put on his shelf of countless trophies: child prodigy, chosen of the sword, youngest royal Knight in Hyrule’s history, and the man who deflowered the Princess.

She felt dirty—used; and that thought hurt all the more because of how safe and cared for she had felt in his arms—how important she had foolishly thought she could be to him. Even if all this wasn’t destined to last, even if they still had an ancient evil to battle and a kingdom to save (as unlikely as that was to be successful), for a little while at least… she had mattered to someone as Zelda—as a _person_ , not as the Princess or the key to saving the Kingdom or a womb to one day dispense heirs. What was growing between them had felt _real_. Not that she had really any experience with which to compare to; and perhaps that was her downfall, why she had been so easy to trick. She wanted to believe it too much.

She hiccuped, slowly lifting her head to find a pool of moisture soaking the sheet she held against herself so tightly.

Maybe she should leave—return to the castle now, without his accompaniment; get away from this damn room and this feeling that was eating her alive. With a wave of determination she stood, ambling her way over to the dresser where she glanced up at herself in the mirror—and immediately broke out into a fresh wave of tears. She looked a mess. Goddess, she couldn’t do this… there was no way she would make it walking over two miles on foot in this state. She would have to stay here and recover herself, at least for a little while.

She turned from her wretched reflection and glared at the rumpled bed with wild, turbulent emotions—the predominant ones heartbreak and a strange crippling anger. She couldn’t sleep there—she _couldn’t_. Instead, she ambled toward the cushioned rocking chair in the corner, pulling the sheet wrapping her body weakly up onto the seat with her where she curled up, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks tear-stained, crying herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me *hides behind laptop*  
> (thoughts and comments still appreciated)


	6. Of Hurt and Heartache

He was awoken from a tortured doze by the faint sound of muffled cursing. He blinked owlishly, struggling a moment to remember where he was before the memories came flooding painfully back. He sat bolt upright, heart pounding, registering the sound as Zelda’s voice echoing through the thin adjoining wall. He rushed on wobbly legs to press his ear against it, hearing uncoordinated movement beyond. She must be getting ready to return to the castle.

He pulled back, breathing deeply and centering himself. Pressing a hand against his pocket in search of the satchel’s small bulk, he willed it to give him strength. He would accompany her back to the castle—he had to, but knew it would not be an easy or pleasant task.

He exited his room for the hall, closing the door behind him and hefting the key forlornly in hand. He stood for several silent moments beside door number four, heart unsteady and palms sweating as he stared at their— _her_ room, waiting. When she walked through the door, cloak wrapped tightly around her, she started upon seeing him. Her eyes grew wide as she took in his rumpled appearance, but quickly narrowed into a familiar angry irritation he had not seen in many months. A memory came to mind, of him riding out to a shrine on orders from her father after she’d given him the slip, and her yelling at him to stop following…

He took a tentative step towards her as she locked the door. She didn’t look up, nor demand he leave. He gathered his courage.

“Z—Hilda… I—I wanted to walk y—”

_“Do not speak to me,”_ she hissed, gaze still fixed on the handle as she fumbled with the key.

His mouth snapped shut, a stone settling in his stomach. Finally she turned, heading stiffly toward the stairs. After a moment he followed silently, warily, behind her.

-:-:-:-

She did not speak again until they were navigating the streets of Castletown some ten minutes later, heading toward the outskirts of the district. At a few hours before sunrise the city was largely deserted, their only company mangy stray cats and the occasional harried rat scurrying along rooftops. He followed a respectful distance behind her; a familiar distance—far more painful now than all those months ago.

“You don’t need to follow me, I’m not a child,” she bit out over her shoulder. His stride faltered, but he didn’t stop.

“I just want to make sure you return safely,” he murmured, struggling to keep his tone even and heart steady.

She snorted, turning her head to face forward. She didn’t respond further.

-:-:-:-

As they trudged through the hidden spiral staircase beneath her study tower, the dark and the silence felt like a physical weight pressing in on him. He began to realize, over the course of their tense and brittle journey back to the castle, that once they returned there may never be another opportunity for him to speak to her frankly and freely about what happened; that without their secret trips to the Fang and Bone, between their duties and the company of the court, he may never be able to properly apologize—never let her know she mattered to him beyond what she could offer in bed.

The ladder to the trapdoor loomed ahead, and with it his last chance. Zelda set the Sheikah lantern on its hook, climbing up and pushing the trap door open with a huff. His heart beat quicker.

He followed up behind her, lowering the trap door as she quickly made for the double doors of her study. He hurried after her, catching up to her hasty strides halfway across the bridge. She was clearly trying to out pace him—to retreat to her room without speaking. With growing desperation he reached for her hand, latching instead on to her wrist. His heart was beating a drumbeat in his chest as he wet his lips, willing the words from his mouth.

“Zelda, _wait_ —”

She froze, pulling uselessly against his grip. Still she refused to look at him.

“Let _go_ of me.”

He kept his grip gentle but didn’t release her. It was now or never.

“You’re not a notch in my belt,” he stated breathlessly, forcing his voice to steady. “You never were, and you never will be.”

She didn’t move, but neither did she try to pull away. He didn’t know whether or not it was because his words left an impression, but if she was willing to listen he would make use of this opportunity regardless.

“If you want to end this, that’s fine—you’ve always had that right, and I will respect your wishes,” he murmured, feeling a knot form in his throat. He hadn’t quite realized until he said it that this moment may very well be the end.

“But if you do,” he breathed, words a whisper, “Please—not like this… don’t end it like this…”

His tone was strained and sad, and he desperately wished he could muster up more to say—but that was all his weary mind managed to pull from his wearier heart. The light of the sun was beginning to shimmer on the horizon and he knew he didn’t have any more time; but at least he’d said something.

Gently he released her wrist and she jerked it back. To his surprise, however, she turned to glance at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were dark and wary, and perhaps it was his imagination, but he could swear he saw a flicker of something else… something other than anger or hurt.

“Goodnight, Zelda,” he said quietly, “And… thank you.” He took a small step back as a show of good faith. Gods how he wished he could kiss her goodnight instead.

Without a word she turned from him, hurriedly crossing the remaining distance to her bedroom doors. Wrenching one open, she disappeared inside without a sound. He shut his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat and straining to contain the anguish and anger which rose like bile in his gut. It was back to the beginning, then—back to Zelda hating him, shooting him scathing glances and always speaking to him with thinly veiled resentment; but for a very different reason, this time, a reason of his own making.

In a burst of rage—at himself, at the situation, he turned and smashed a fist against the stone parapet, only distantly aware of the sharp, throbbing ache blooming in his hand. But as quickly as the rage had arisen it faded, leaving numbness in its wake. He stared listlessly down at his fist, bruised and bleeding around the knuckles as he dully flexed his fingers.

It was going to be a very long, very depressing day.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

She descended the spiral stairs into her bedroom more worn than she could remember feeling in a long time. After waking from a fitful doze in the rocking chair in her room at the tavern, she had felt numb, her anger only spiking through the dull haze whenever she was forced to look at him—hear him speak. And now that he was gone, she felt numb once more.

She headed listlessly to her bathroom to rinse out the hair dye, then dressed in her prayer gown as her damp locks dried wrapped in a towel. By the time she sat upon her vanity stool the sun was rising over the horizon, casting her bedroom in pale blue light. She brushed her hair as the room gradually lightened, each stroke mechanical and habitual. When she finally set down the brush and turned to her reflection, it was as though a different person stared back at her. She supposed in many ways this was true. The wild, raven-haired girl was gone now, and with her all the liberation and freedom she had claimed; and in her place sat Zelda, nineteenth of her name, Princess of destiny and heir to the throne of Hyrule. She was bound by her duties and trapped by her failure—a Princess no one wanted; a person few cared to know.

Link’s gentle words came back to her then, ringing in her head like a phantom pain.

_“You’re not a notch in my belt. You never were, and you never will be…”_

Her vision of the girl in the mirror began to waver and it took Zelda a moment to realize tears had formed in her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to believe him; wished nothing more than for this to all go away—for this hurt to fade and be replaced by the radiant sunshine their rendezvous had previously given her. She had felt safe in his arms—safe and cared for and free and _seen_.

But she just… _couldn’t_. She couldn’t reconcile that feeling of warmth with the sense of betrayal which followed—couldn’t seem to shake the memory of his wide, panicked eyes when she broached the subject of his past encounters; couldn’t shake the certainty that she was never anything more than another trophy to add to his long list of achievements.

What a damned stupid fool she was to assume she could ever have any measure of control over something in her life.

At the thought her shoulders stiffened, tears finally falling from her eyes to trail down pale cheeks. In a sudden torrent the numbness within her was washed away by grief, her shoulders racked with sobs as she collapsed atop the vanity, her heartbreak finally, fully, breaking free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, maybe this is really where I should be cowering behind my keyboard... (please don't hate me!)  
> I do have some tooth-rotting fluff queued up to follow now that this story is complete, to help wash the sad away. Thoughts are welcome! Additionally, I have a poll on Twitter regarding what WIP I should focus on completing next. Feel free to pop over there and vote if you feel particularly strongly about seeing the next installment, like, ASAP. Thank you all for reading and for your lovely comments! I'll see you guys again in the next story!  
> \---  
> Edit: It has come to my attention that the Twitter link isn't working, so here: https://twitter.com/SpicyChestnut/status/1249147377409277956


End file.
